


In Which It Takes a Major Injury For North To Realize His Feelings Towards York

by RoyalHeather



Series: before there was red vs. blue there was project freelancer [5]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Injury Recovery, M/M, Pining, Realization of Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 03:48:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6036817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyalHeather/pseuds/RoyalHeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Considering he's suddenly realized he has feelings for his best friend, North's bedside manner isn't all that bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which It Takes a Major Injury For North To Realize His Feelings Towards York

North’s taking yet another stab at _War and Peace_ (he’s going to finish this book someday, dammit), but it’s not going very well at all. So of course when York first stirs in the hospital bed beside North, he’s immediately aware.

York blinks, groggy, and North waits until his eye is at least mostly open before speaking. “Hey,” says North. “How’re you feeling?”

Looking more than a little dazed, York turns his head, the eye not obscured by white gauze resting on North. “North?” he mumbles.

“Yeah, bud, it’s me.”

York frowns and blinks at him, and then frowns and blinks at the middle distance. “Can’t see my eye,” he says, and reaches for the bandages.

“Nah nah nah, don’t do that,” says North, a hand already on York’s wrist to pull it down. “Don’t touch your eye.”

“Okay,” says York. “Why?”

“It’s hurt, they did surgery to try and fix it,” says North. “You can’t touch the bandages, all right?”

“All right,” sighs York, and for a minute it looks like he’s going to fall back asleep again. But then… “North?”

“Yeah?”

Apparently that’s all the answer York needs, though, because he doesn’t follow it up with anything, just kind of vaguely looks off in front of him. North watches his face, looking for any signs of discomfort beyond anesthetic-induced confusion. York clearly doesn’t understand the full impact of what’s happened yet, and North’s heart aches for when he does…

York makes a sound of distress, one hand on his torso. “My stomach feels funny.”

“All right,” says North, who knows where this is going, and reaches under the bed for the plastic basin. “Come here.” He plunks the basin down on York’s lap, helps him sit up. “Aim for this, okay?”

“What?” says York. “Why -” and retches.

North keeps a steadying hand on his shoulder and his gaze on the opposite wall. When it sounds like York’s done, North turns back to him, helping him lie down. “Fuck,” mumbles York.

“Here, I can take that,” says a nurse, practically materializing beside North. “You might want to get him some crackers or something, that might help settle his stomach.”

“Crackers?” says North.

“Yeah, like plain saltine crackers, nothing fancy.”

“Sure thing,” says North, and turns back to York. “Hey, I’ll be right back, okay?”

York still looks clammy and queasy and does not respond.

“I’ll get you some water too,” says North, and stands.

There’s a vending machine just outside the medical bay and North heads towards it, boots clunking on the polished floor. There’s a cold knot of worry in his stomach, both for York’s physical health and his emotional and mental state. He wants to believe, badly, that York will bounce back and shrug off this handicap with all of his usual competence and twice his usual swagger, but he’s not sure that’ll happen -

 _Oh God,_ thinks North. _What if they sent him home?_

He’s so blindsided by both the thought and how much it dismays him that he completely walks by the vending machine before he realizes it’s there. Wheeling around, North comes to a halt in front of it, and searches for crackers among the brightly-wrapped packages.

 _So York leaves PFL,_ says his inner voice in an attempt to rationalize. _So what?_

 _So what?_ North wants to respond. _He’s my fucking best friend, I’d miss him, I’m -_

He stares at his reflection in the glass, finger frozen above the button for crackers. _I’m in love with him._

For a minute he’s too stunned to do anything, because _no,_ that can’t be right, York’s his friend, his brother-in-arms, if he was going to feel something it’d have happened long before this, half the time he wants to strangle York anyway, and besides he’s into Carolina…

 _You like him,_ a grade-school singsong voice in his head is saying. _You like him, you like him…_

 _Shut_ up, groans North, and tips his head against the vending machine with a thunk.

“Hey, buddy,” says a guy behind him. “You gonna buy something or what?”

With a sigh North straightens, pushing the button for crackers. _Why is everyone on this ship an asshole,_ he thinks, and swipes his card.

Crackers obtained, North walks back into the medical bay, still dazed by his recent revelation. _I mean, I like York as a friend, yeah, sure,_ he still tries to rationalize. _And I care about him the same way I’d care about any of my other friends, like South, or Wash, or Maine, or…_

But all the excuses sound horribly weak and flat. Silently cursing his existence, North approaches York’s bed, uncomfortably aware of his heart in his chest - _shit, I forgot to get water,_ he thinks.

“Hey,” he says, because he’s approaching from York’s blind side, and when York looks around and sees North his face lights up in a way that sends any doubt North had flying out the window. That’s it. He’s head-over-heels for his best friend, a philandering, arrogant, attention-seeking, currently high as a kite idiot…

“Got you some crackers,” says North, circling to sit on York’s right side, and opens the package. When handed a cracker, however, York just stares at it.

“You eat it,” says North, and York puts it to his mouth experimentally. He manages okay until a piece breaks off and falls on his chest.

“Oh,” says York, looking at it blankly, and North represses a snort of laughter that quickly turns into an urge to cry. _This_ is who he’s chosen for the object of his affections…

“Hey, North?” mumbles York, around more cracker.

“Yeah?”

“How come - how come I can’t see out of m’eye…”

There it is again, that sympathetic pain in North’s chest. “You hurt it.”

“How?”

“A grenade exploded in your face.”

“Ow.” By the expression on York’s face, this is mildly intriguing. “Why?” he says, taking another cracker North hands to him.

“Maine and Wyoming were being idiots.” They were being fucking assholes, actually. North clenches a fist on his thigh, resolves to punch them both in the face the first chance he gets.

“Why?”

“Shut up and eat your crackers, York.”

York obeys, which is perhaps the oddest thing he’s done yet. North watches him with an odd sense of protective fondness, vaguely aware of how quiet it is in this ward of the hospital, the noises of the ship a steady and comforting hum.

 _I really hope they don’t discharge you,_ he thinks.

“Hey, fellas,” says Carolina, and North looks up to see her approaching, helmet under arm. “How’s he doing?”

“Seems all right,” says North. York’s staring at Carolina like she’s an angel come from heaven, and wow, North was not expecting the wooden jealousy that shoots through him.

“Hey,” says Carolina to York, and it’s the softest North’s ever heard her voice. “How’re you feeling?”

York continues to stare at her. “You’re pretty.”

Carolina chuckles, and North is relieved to see only friendship in her expression, and then hates himself for being so petty. “All right,” she says, and turns to North. “How’s - how’s his -”

North shakes his head grimly, motions with his head back towards the center of the medical bay. “Talk to the doctors.”

Looking equally bleak, Carolina nods and walks off in that direction. York watches her go the entire time.

“Who’s that?” he says, once she’s left the room.

“Your friend Carolina.”

“Oh.” York looks back at North, and smiles. “You’re my friend too.”

“Sure am,” and North manages a smile in response.

“Yeah,” says York, reaching out to clumsily pat North’s forearm. “Best friend. Know how I know? ‘Cause you’re sitting right here.” He pats North’s arm again, eyelids drifting down. “Righ’ here. Best fucking friend…”

It’s heartwarming and disappointing at the same time. “Best friend,” repeats York, with one final touch, and then he lies back with a sigh, looking distinctly troubled.

“You feeling okay?” says North.

York’s frown deepens. “I think my pain meds are wearing off.”

“You haven’t had any yet, that’s just the anesthetic,” says North, pushing the call button. “I’ll get you some.”

“Wait wait wait, don’t - don’t go,” says York, grabbing North’s arm, eye wide. “Don’t -”

“I’m not going anywhere,” soothes North. “Promise.”

The nurse walks up to them. “What is it?” When North tells her York needs pain meds, she goes over to York. “What hurts?”

“My head,” says York. “And my eye.” He’s making the woe-is-me-please-pity-me face, which is possibly one of North’s least favorite faces.

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” she says, with professional sympathy. “I’ll be right back.”

She returns with a glass of water and a pill cupped in her hand. “There you go,” she says, handing them to York, who can now sit up unassisted. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Having swallowed the pill, York sets the glass down on the bedside table but does not lay back down. “I don’t feel any better,” he whines.

“It’ll kick in, just give it a minute,” says North. York does not look convinced.

“What if it doesn’t?”

“Then we’ll just call the nurse back to get you some more.”

Sighing, York lies back down with his arm behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. “What happened to my eye, again?”

North explains, briefly. York watches him intently the entire time. “But they fixed it, right?” he says the second North’s done. “That’s what this is, they fixed my eye, it’ll be fine…”

“I don’t know,” lies North.

York’s face crumples. “They can’t,” he says.

“I didn’t say that -”

“You didn’t have to.” York swallows hard, tears in his eye. “That’s it, that’s - shit -”

It hurts every bit as much as North thought it would, and he puts a hand on York’s shoulder. York stares up at the ceiling, blinking furiously and occasionally exhaling sharply.

“Okay,” says York after a while. “This is - _shit -”_

“York -”

“No, I can, I can do this, I can…” He draws in a shuddering breath. “I’ll be okay.”

North doesn’t have the heart to tell him his fear, that York will be discharged with an injury. He just swallows hard and nods, one hand still on York’s shoulder. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, you will.”


End file.
